


Enjolras' Death

by EnjolrasAmy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-09
Updated: 2011-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnjolrasAmy/pseuds/EnjolrasAmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shot drabble, written during therapy. Enjolras is sentenced to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enjolras' Death

“Long live the Republic! I’m with them!” so cried Grantaire as he woke from his drunken slumber. Enjolras looked up from behind the billiard table he’d used as his last barricade. The National Guard firing squad looked up at Enjolras, and Grantaire. The Sergeant thought quickly. As Grantaire made his way unsteadily to stand next to Enjolras, the Sergeant quickly whispered his new orders to the firing squad. Before Grantaire was halfway across the room, the final word was spoken. “Fire!” With that one cold, emotionless word, Grantaire was pierced with 12 bullets. He fell without a sound. Enjolras opened his mouth in shock at the coldness of the guards. He turned around to angrily face the Sergeant, but before he could get any words out, he was gagged by a piece of filthy rag. The Sergeant laughed softly and bound the dark haired young man’s hands behind his back. Enjolras scowled and started fighting the guard with his hands bound. The Sergeant laughed at his pitiful struggles, and bringing his hand down hard on the young man’s head, Enjolras fell unconscious to the floor. “Tie him up well and bring him downstairs.” The Sergeant ordered. The guards hurried to obey his orders. Grabbing the helpless young man roughly, they untied the tricolour around his waist and used that to rebind his hands, laughing about his symbols of liberty. They were now being used to remove his! Stripping Enjolras, they just left him his red flag, which he had carried since the barricade fell, tied loincloth style around his waist. They then used the rope used to bind his hands before the tricolour, on his feet. The strongest of the guards threw the young man over his shoulder like he was no more than a sack of potatoes and led the rest of the squad back downstairs to deliver him to the Sergeant.

 

The Sergeant sipped a glass of wine as he watched his prisoner. Enjolras came slowly back to his senses. Feeling that he was somewhat restrained, Enjolras started fighting to be released. Even when he was tired from the battle, he still fought his oppressors. He wriggled around on the floor where he’d been dumped and cringed in pain as he felt more than one bruise where he’d been beaten. Eventually, Enjolras realised he couldn’t escape this way. His chest heaving as he got his breath back, the fire still burning in his eyes. The Sergeant finished his wine and stood over his prisoner. Enjolras stared back at him, his cold dark eyes reflecting his anger at the way Grantaire had been killed, and how he’d be treated himself. “You are a traitor though,” the Sergeant said smugly to him. “You have no rights of liberty.” He decided that it was time to deliver his prisoner to the King for sentencing. Grabbing Enjolras roughly by his loincloth, he slung him onto a cart and, taking a couple of horses left by the guards, he rode to the palace.

 

He was admitted to the throne room without question. He saluted the King, waiting for permission to speak. King Louis-Philippe nodded his consent. “Sire,” began the Sergeant, “I have captured the rebel leader himself. One Marcelin Enjolras.” The King nodded thoughtfully. “Execute him without trial.” He decreed. “Make it this afternoon. Now. I will be there momentarily. Just give me a few minutes to write his death warrant.” With these words, Louis-Philippe stood up and swept over to his study. The Sergeant respectfully saluted his departing back and waited for the King to return. A few minutes later, the King remerged and gave the warrant to the Sergeant, who saluted and went to the cell where Enjolras had been left. Enjolras was no longer fighting his bonds, but he still had the fire of the Revolution in his eyes. The Sergeant unbound his feet to allow him to walk and, grabbing him by the arms, he led him on his final walk.

 

Enjolras gulped as he saw the scaffold and the guillotine. The entire population of Paris had come out to clear up, and when they saw the prisoner being led to the scaffold, they surrounded it like a pack of vultures. But when they saw it was the rebel leader, more than one person in the crowd burst into tears. Enjolras made his final speech. “Citizens!” he cried, “I give my life gladly, and fighting for you was an honour. I’m sorry I couldn’t free you, but I am now free to carry on my dreams in heaven. Godspeed, citizens.” And with these words, Enjolras knelt down and put his head in the mouth of the guillotine. The King raised his hand and let it fall. Enjolras’ head was severed from his body. The king smiled. His reign was safe. The rebels had been destroyed. He turned back to his palace to have a light dinner and carry on terrorising his people.


End file.
